


once a loser, always a loser

by trashedmouthtozier



Series: and we always will be [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Rock Band, And Plot, Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Bullying, Canon-typical language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Just Bear With Me, Light Angst, M/M, Pansexual Mike Hanlon, Pansexual Stanley Uris, References to Canon, Slow Burn, Trans Stanley Uris, and we love him, assuming i know how to write the com portion, ben is the token straight friend in this, fuck the clown, i hardly ever stick with longer fics but i have a lot of ideas for this one, i just have a thing for band aus, i just wanted it put out there, its gonna be a feel good coming of age gay romcom okay, just less clowns and murder, like a whole written out plan, naturally, probably not gonna be smut, references to canon-compliant abuse and trauma, references to mental illness and trauma, so are we surprised, takes place their sophomore year of college, theres gonna be so much music in here yall, though thats not super relevant, token straight friends in groups of gays are always great, whats canon? idk her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashedmouthtozier/pseuds/trashedmouthtozier
Summary: Richie Tozier is determined to get the Friday gig at his favorite bar on campus, but to do that he needs to be a part of a band.That's where Eddie Kaspbrak comes in.[alt. title: the self-indulgent band au no one asked for]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SailMyShips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailMyShips/gifts).

> So this is the beginning of what I hope to be a longer multichap fic.  
I love few tropes more than a good band/punk au and while this isn't explicitly punk, its definitely in the same vein.   
This is also gonna be my trying my hand at a slower burn (note I say slower and not slow because these boys are still enamored with each other in canon-typical fashion)
> 
> Also hopefully this isn't too out of character or at least improves with time. I didn't think I'd struggle with writing them as much as I am.   
xx

“Once again, I’m Beverly Marsh—”

“And I’m Richie Tozier —”

“And together we’re Trashmouth! Have a good rest of your night, guys, and come see us again next Wednesday!”

///

Richie put his guitar back in its case as Beverly complained. The mic stand wailed as she dragged it across the floor toward its closing location. 

“Can you believe it? All I did was mention the open spot and they shut me down! ‘Fridays are reserved for bands of four or more people, Ms. Marsh’” she continued, putting on a deep voice.

“Pretty sure what they meant was ‘Fridays are reserved for real bands,’ Bev. Maybe you should try and —” Richie waggled an eyebrow at her, “whip out your female charm?”

Bev tossed a balled-up napkin from the floor at him. She’d always had pretty good aim, but Richie had spent years having things hurled at him by her so by now he could avoid it pretty easily. He snickered as she rolled her eyes.

“No one is  _ whipping out _ anything, dumbass. And we are a real band! You don’t need ‘four or more people’ to qualify as a band, I mean just look at Panic! At The Disco.”

“Doesn’t count, they started as a foursome, not Brendon’s fault all his friends left him.” Richie pointed out. Bev raised a brow in challenge.

“Twenty One Pilots.”

“Everyone calls them a duo.”

She sighed, slumping onto the edge of the stage. Richie took up residence next to her and she leaned on him as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Don’t fret Mademoiselle, one day a big, strong, wealthy man will come along and pay our way to success!”

Bev snorted.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Nah, I’m much more into twinks. You can keep big, strong Ben to yourself,” he retaliated, winking at her. She elbowed him in the ribs before sitting up.

“Beep beep, Rich.”

He raised his hands in defeat. 

“Just wanted to quell any of your worries about me stealin’ your man.”

“Sorry Rich, you’re really not my type.”

The two spun around to see Ben leaning against the doorframe to The Hideout. Bev smiled as he walked toward them. Richie gasped, feigning heartbreak.

“Oh you wound me, Benward!”

Ben smiled innocently as he wrapped his arms around Bev from behind and murmured something in her ear. She grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“We’re gonna go out now Rich, you wanna join?” Ben asked. It sounded sincere but there was still a hint of ‘please say no’ layered in there. Richie waved them off.

“Begone, lovebirds! I’ll go find my own entertainment for the night,” he announced, cheekily. Bev faked a gag while Ben chuckled.

“Alright, whatever you say big guy.”

He patted Richie’s shoulder (he probably thought he was being gentle, but the way Richie shifted under the pressure of his hand clapping onto him spoke otherwise). The couple headed out, Bev waving over her shoulder. Richie sighed and made his own way out.

///

In the grand scheme of things, dorm beds weren’t technically comfortable. The mattresses were thin and they were much too small for anyone over 5’7” which meant for Richie, who finally started maxing out around 6’2”, there was no sprawling out if he wanted to get a decent rest in. He had learned to curl into himself as tight as possible, gangly limbs contorting into a pretzel under his grey comforter. 

That’s where he had been for the past hour. After his last class of the day got cancelled, he had made an attempt to start on his assignments but the weight and warmth his blankets provided quickly overpowered any inkling of motivation to be a good student. He toyed with his phone a bit before dozing off. It wasn’t until nearly two that the sound of the door swinging open jolted him awake. 

“Richie get up it’s time to pay out on all those favors I’ve done for you,” Stan announced, walking into the room with purpose. Richie squinted, reaching for his glasses. They had managed to wedge themselves under his neck, the tip poking him in the cheek. He put them on properly before propping himself up on one arm.

“Stan?” 

He was met with his jacket hitting him in the face. 

“What the  _ fuck, _ Staniel?”

Richie ripped the jacket off of his face and sat up fully, prepared to make a scathing (see: annoying) comment at his friend’s expense but upon actually seeing Stan, the words fell mute. Stan stood in front of his wardrobe, eyes darting frantically across his shirts. While he was known for looking annoyed, the tight knit of his brows and way he was gnawing at his bottom lip let Richie know that something was, undoubtedly, up. 

“What’s up, Stan the Man?” he asked, shrugging his coat on. Stan shook his head, grabbing two button downs and holding them in front of Richie. 

“Which of these says ‘I am approachable and interested’?” 

Richie snorted.

“Who are you and what have you done with Stan?”

“Richie —”  
“No, really, what are you interested in? Because between the coral pink and blue stripes it looks like you’re trying to rent a beach home in an elderly community.”

“ _ Richie _ ,” His voice was strained, wavering somewhere between frustrated and panicked, “please…”

The taller boy softened up immediately. Leaning onto his hand, he raised a brow.

“Listening now,” he announced. Stan exhaled hard, dropping his arms. Sitting on his own bed across the dorm, he relented.

“It's the guy from my lit class.”

“He asked you out? Fucking finally, I was beginning to think I’d get  _ married  _ before either of you made a move.”

“No he-he didn’t, not exactly. He, um, mentioned that his friend was performing tonight at The Hideout and I mentioned how you and Bev perform there Wednesdays and he said that if I wasn’t feeling ‘musiced-out’ he hoped to see me there and I… I agreed.”

Richie blinked slowly. There was a beat of silence before — 

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“I know!”

“That has to be the most roundabout way of asking someone out I’ve ever heard of.  _ Jesus Christ, _ what is with this guy?”

“Just — just help me find a shirt, okay?”

Richie sighed and stood, walking over to the other boy’s wardrobe. He flicked through repeats of the same shirt for almost a minute. Just before he was about to make a comment because  _ who the fuck owns this many pastel button downs _ he managed to stumble upon something slightly different. It was still a short sleeved button down, of course, but instead of a pastel shade or faint pin stripes it was a deep maroon and covered in a smattering of gold and green floral print. He pulled it out and turned, eyeing Stan.

“And where have you been hiding this little number?”

Stan gawked.

“That? You’ve gotta be shitting me, Rich, that’s the most ostentatious thing I own!”

“You wanna make an impression, don’t you?”

“I want to make a  _ good _ impression. One that says I’m capable of dressing myself.”

“Which you clearly aren’t, since you’re asking for my help.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Richie rolled his eyes, walking into their en suite.

“ Ándale ándale! Get a move on, Stanley, we’ve got a boy to woo!”

He shut the door behind him, ignoring as Stan grumbled something about the use of ‘we’ in that statement. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie tries to play wingman but ends up gayer than anticipated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Eddie is singing in this is 'King of Anything' by Sara Bareilles, but specifically [ this cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdMZAeIfM94) of it performed by Sam Tsui (who I have as a singing voice hc for Eddie in this fic)
> 
> I finished this chapter and immediately wanted to post it because I actually really like how it turned out.   
Just gotta keep this momentum going now oh dear.

The Hideout was strangely busy for a Thursday night. Most of the tables were occupied by chattering college students, a couple were familiar faces, but no one Richie found himself wanting to talk to. He was there for Stan, he told himself, even if Stan had been talking to Lit Class Kid (who he had learned was named Bill, but Richie was nothing if not a nickname connoisseur) since they arrived. So Richie did what he spent most of middle and high school doing — standing in the corner, unnoticed. 

His phone buzzed.

_ From: Molly Ringwald _

_ Sorry Rich, you know Thursdays are date night for Ben and I! See you tomorrow! Xx _

Richie sighed, shooting a quick response ( _ say hi to haystack for me _ ) before returning to doing fuck all with a half-empty can of coke. That was, until a familiar screech of a microphone woke him from his reverie. He looked toward the stage as someone plugged in a keyboard and stepped up to the mic. He cleared his throat before smiling nervously, looking out into the newly-attentive crowd. 

“Um,” the mic let out a long whine, causing everyone to flinch. He tried again, leaning toward it much more cautiously.

“My name is Eddie Kaspbrak and, uh, yeah.”

He trailed off at the end, his mumbling drowned out by the beginnings of his fingers on the piano. It was a familiar tune, something Richie could’ve sworn he’d heard before, and then—

_ Oh _ .

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Only decent musicians score gigs that are separate from open mics, obviously he was gonna have some semblance of talent. This wasn’t just talent, though. This was something else entirely. This was a physical representation of what Richie felt every time he was on stage. This was  _ magic _ .

His mouth was agape and he probably looked like an idiot, standing in the corner and buffering, but he was too enamored to care.

“... _ I hate to break it to you babe, but I’m not drowning.  _

_ There’s no one here to save…”  _

He gravitated toward the stage, reaching Stan and Bill and freezing up. Stan nudged him, breaking him out of his stupor. He glanced to his friend, tearing his eyes away from Eddie.

“Huh?”

Stan rolled his eyes.

“I said ‘he’s good, isn’t he?’ but you clearly agree.”

“Oh,” Richie replied, sheepishly, “Yeah he’s really fucking good.”

Closer up, it was easier to  _ see _ Eddie and Richie was more than grateful. His brown hair was cropped, though a few pieces fell into his face as he performed. There was a smattering of freckles across his face, all centering and bringing a focus to his eyes. Big and brown and alight with emotion. Needless to say, Richie was enamored.

_ “...You’re so busy making maps with my name on them in all caps, _

_ You’ve got the talking down, just not the listening…” _

Richie was certainly listening.

_ “... Who cares if you disagree, you are not me, _

_ Who made you king of anything? _

_ So you dare tell me who to be, who died and made you king of anything…” _

He looked up then, tearing his eyes away from the expanse of the audience and scanning the crowd a little more intensely. Eventually his eyes landed on Bill, who smiled. Eddie smiled in return, scrunching his nose.  _ Cute _ . He continued scanning before his eyes landed on Richie (who, at that moment, was genuinely afraid he might pass out). He tried to smile, tried to look ecstatic, and swallow down the blatant admiration before flashing a thumbs up. A fucking thumbs up. He inwardly cringed but Eddie just smiled brighter and then he  _ winked _ .

_ “... Let me hold your crown, babe…” _

Richie was baffled. The song came to an end and people clapped before Eddie started up into another one and Richie continued to stare. He continued to stare until he realized just how fucking creepy it probably was and then he stumbled back some, muttering to Stan about giving him some alone time and heading back to his corner. Watching from a distance was decidedly less creepy and allowed Richie to actually keep his thoughts together for the time being. 

///

Eddie wrapped up his set after five or six songs. Richie lost count, too focused on trying to distract himself. People started clearing out of The Hideout as the bar closed, moving onto clubs and parties that would be open until the early hours of the morning. With more breathing room, Richie found his way back to Stan. Bill was nowhere in sight. 

“So?” he asked. Stan jumped, snapping his attention back to Richie.

“Fucking Christ, Rich. What?”

“How’d it go? Should I avoid the dorm for a few hours, give you and Big Bill some time alone?” He wagged a brow and Stan elbowed him, eyes rolling. 

“It was  _ fine _ , Rich. And no, get your head out of the gutter.”

He winked.

“Wouldn’t be ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier if I did that, Stan the Man.”

“Uh huh. And what about you? Do  _ I _ need to avoid the dorm?”

“What?”

“You’re not subtle, dumbass. You were drooling during Eddie’s entire set.”

Richie wiped his mouth, suddenly insecure.

“Was  _ not _ ,” he said, incredulously. Stan snorted. There were footsteps, and then there was Eddie. And Bill, but he was much more focused on Stan. Richie stood up straighter, breaking his usual habit of hunching. 

“Stan, this is Ed-Eddie,” Bill announced. They waved to each other and Richie suddenly felt like a fourth wheel. Until Stan,  _ bless Stan _ , gestured to Richie.

“This is my roommate, Richie.”

Eddie turned to him and smiled, giving him his own small wave. Richie gulped and nodded at him, returning the smile. There was a sigh.

“Forgive him, he gets stupid around pretty people.”

_Never mind_ _ , fuck Stan.  _

Richie shot a sharp look at his friend, who shrugged innocently. Eddie stifled a laugh, nose crinkling. Richie relaxed. Laughter was something he could work with. He knew laughter, was familiar with the ins and outs.

“You were fucking brilliant, man,” he announced. Eddie nodded, still smiling.

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”

“Wh-what?” Richie asked, cringing at the crack in his voice. Tilting his head, Eddie replied,

“Well yeah, because you perform too. You’re part of Trashmouth?”

_ Oh yeah _ . He nodded, blinking away whatever had clouded his judgement momentarily. Until his brain dropped another bomb on him.

“You’ve seen m-us perform?”

“Yeah, of course! Came to a couple shows here before deciding it was where I wanted to audition.”

“What was the final sell? My charm?”

Richie could feel Stanley cringing next to him. He ignored it, flashing Eddie an obnoxious grin.

“No it was definitely when you tripped and dropped your entire guitar case coming on stage.”

Stan barked a laugh, covering his mouth. Bill chuckled. Richie just blinked, mouth agape. 

“Holy shit I forgot about that,” Stan exclaimed. 

“Yeah I  _ thought _ everyone did,” Richie said, brain still short-circuiting. Eddie shrugged, smirking.

“Hard to forget your first impression of someone.”  
Throwing his hands up in mock exasperation, Richie announced,

“That was your first impression? Me making an idiot of myself?”  
“Rich, when are you not making an idiot of yourself?”

“Y’know, Stan, as far as wingmen go you’re worse than Bev.”

“Just keeping you humble, dumbass.”

Eddie and Bill looked on, watching the two bicker in amusement. Richie huffed, shooing Stan away.

“Why don’t you get back to your  _ date _ , Stanley. Before he starts thinking we’re bitter exes or something.”

“Shut up, Trashmouth.”

With that, Stan turned back to Bill and the two started heading toward the exit. Richie sighed.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Eds. Sometimes Stan just doesn’t know when to stop.”

Richie put on a voice, making a few overly dramatic sobbing sounds. The shorter boy scoffed.

“From what it seems, you’re the one without boundaries,  _ Trashmouth _ ,” he nudged Richie’s stomach, “And don’t call me Eds.”

Richie’s mouth twitched, watching Eddie turn toward the half-packed keyboard.

“C’mon, help me with this?”

///

“Y’know, I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” Richie said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Eddie looked at him skeptically.

“What makes you say that?”

“Call it intuition. Also,” he nodded his head towards Bill and Stan, who were sitting on a bench holding hands. Eddie snorted.

“Took him long enough,” he muttered. Richie raised a brow.

“Tell me about it. Stan hasn’t shut up since the beginning of the semester.”  
He clasped his hands together, batting his lashes.

“‘Oh Richie, he’s just so cute!’ ‘Richie, he brought me coffee!’ ‘Richie, he rolled up his sleeves today and I orgasmed on the spot!’”

Eddie sputtered, wheezing with laughter. Holding his side, he took a couple deep breaths while Richie laughed along. 

“Ho-holy fuck, that’s so fucking… Bill wouldn’t shut up about his  _ hair _ . It was constant!”

“In his defense, Stan’s hair is pretty fucking magical.”

“Okay that’s fair,” Eddie replied, laughter sputtering out into a soft smile. Richie opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Bill jogging up to them, worry stitched on his face and Stan trailing behind. 

“Is everything okay, Eddie? It lo-ooked like you were having an a-asthma attack.”

Eddie paused to look at Richie, the two of them bursting into a new round of laughter. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie is a disaster, but we kinda already knew that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished this fucking chapter and I am so goddamn relieved, y'all. Anyways, the song that Richie and Bev perform in here is Self-Loathing by Days N Daze and if you wanna know roughly how I picture they sound together, literally anything by that band works.

Richie wasn’t wrong when he said that him and Eddie would be seeing a lot more of each other. Stan and Bill had started exclusively dating almost immediately in the days following Eddie’s performance, meaning that Stan’s gushing about his boyfriend only increased tenfold. He didn’t ask Richie to be a wingman again, though. 

No, in the week following Richie simply became more acutely  _ aware  _ of Eddie’s existence throughout campus. He’d see him while walking to class, getting coffee, in the dining hall. On one occasion he’d gone to the library while Ben was working to give him back one of his CDs and as he was leaving he saw Eddie curled into a booth at a table, staring down whatever offending textbook he was studying from. And despite his nature, Richie had left him alone. 

He couldn’t really explain  _ why _ he’d been so adamant on leaving Eddie alone. When it came to anyone else he reveled in his random appearances in their lives, popping up to crack some (poorly timed) jokes and then vanishing again, but with Eddie it was different. They hadn’t spoken since Thursday night and Richie wasn’t even sure if Eddie was even aware of how often their paths almost crossed. How easy it would be for Richie to insert himself into Eddie’s daily life. But he didn’t.

It wasn’t until Tuesday that Eddie had appeared in conversation. Richie and Stan were heading back to their dorm after dinner, Richie spinning a story about how the deli meat used in the sandwiches was  _ definitely _ human, when Stan had cut him off. 

“I think Bill and I are going to go to your performance tomorrow night.”

“Hell yeah, man! Maybe I can convince Bev to dedicate a song to you. Would you prefer one about true love or heated sex?”

“That is the nightmare scenario, Richie.”

“Oh come on, you haven’t even heard my rendition of ‘Violent Pornography’. Its guaranteed to put you right in the mood,” he pressed, ignoring the way Stan was pressing his tongue to his cheek. Crossing his arms, Stan snapped,

“We invited Eddie too, dumbshit.” 

Richie stumbled, losing his footing. An issue with being mostly leg meant that falling was a whole ordeal. If he didn’t fall entirely, he caught himself with his hands on the ground and ass in the air and, to put it simply, made an idiot of himself. Luckily, Stan had seen him do this at least once a week since they’d met so it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing around him. That being said, the context surrounding his tumble added a new layer of humiliation. Stan snickered, standing with his arms crossed. 

“Not, ugh,” Richie pushed himself up from the ground, “Not fucking helping.”

“What? No witty comeback?”

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, causing Stan to snort. If his brain hadn’t been mush he might’ve retorted with some shitty ‘your mom’ joke, something offensive enough to get Stan to fuck off, but he didn’t. Like everything else related to Eddie, this was different. 

///

He was nervous, had been since he woke up. He’d texted Bev several times throughout the day, questioning song choice, confirming song choice, second guessing song choice. Eventually she’d threatened to block his number and he stopped, resorting to pacing and practicing more intensely than usual. 

He wasn’t any less anxious by the time he piled into his van, guitar in tow, and drove to Bev’s apartment. She was waiting outside as he pulled up, her bass slung around her shoulder. He gave a tight-lipped smile when she opened the door. She scoffed.

“See you’re jumping with excitement tonight, Rich.”

He sighed, leaning his head against the wheel. Bev placed a hand on his back, soothingly. 

“Is everything alright?”

Richie just shook his head. She sighed.

“Is this about that guy? Bill’s friend?”

He nodded.

“He’s gonna be there tonight, Bev. He’s gonna be there and he’s gonna see us perform and I’m gonna fuck it up.”

Richie let out a frustrated groan, hands tangling in his curls. Bev continued to rub his back.

“Are you worried about fucking up the performance or your chances with him?”

“I don’t  _ know _ . Both, I guess. I don’t want… He’s Bill’s best friend. Bill is dating Stan and I’m Stan’s best friend and I don’t want… I can’t mess this up for them.”

“I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself, Rich. Bill and Stan’s relationship is theirs to worry about. Don’t convince yourself it's up to you to protect. Unless…”

Richie turned to face her, his cheek pressed against the wheel. 

“Unless?”  
“Unless you’re deflecting again and just don’t want me to talk about your pretty obvious feelings for Eddie.”

Richie sat upright, wide-eyed. He sputtered and Bev rolled her eyes.

“I barely know him, Bev! I don’t— I can’t! No, no not at all. He’s cute, sure, and yeah he’s got the voice of a damn angel, and maybe he laughs at my jokes but my jokes are hilarious so that isn’t surprising, but I do  _ not _ have some sort of middle school crush on him. You’re fucking crazy, Miss Marsh. No.”

Bev was smirking, arms crossed. There was that mischievous glint in her eye that Richie had liked before it was directed at him. Now he wasn’t so sure. He put his eyes on the road and pulled away from the apartment complex. With one final glance at her smug expression, he shook his head.

“Now could we please just get back to going over the set list and stop fixating on my  _ nonexistent  _ feelings.”

///

Pulling up to The Hideout, the pair saw most of their usual crowd. Stoners and hippies, a couple punks, and Stan and Bill, the only relatively normal looking people, converged around the stage and surrounding tables. Richie immediately felt himself relax. Entertaining people with impaired judgment was easy. No one could tell if they fucked up and if he fell or dropped his guitar (again) they always assumed it was on purpose. The two of them made their way toward the stage, pushing through a group and settling by the stairs. Richie shucked off his guitar case, handing it to Bev. 

“I’ll go get us drinks. Whaddya want?”

He knew her answer, of course. They had this argument every week. 

“Water, Richie. We’re performing. We both need water.”

He waved her off.

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

He wove his way back through the tables and to the bar. Wednesdays meant Carson was working. Him and Richie shared a chem lab together their freshman year which had proved disastrous for a conducive learning environment, but great for their budding friendship. Neither of them were particularly bad at Chemistry, they just were naturally hyperactive people. Naturally, this meant that all experiments where they partnered up were obnoxious for everyone else. Neither of them failed the class, though.

Carson’s hair was longer now, long enough that he pulled it into a bun when he worked, and instead of the five-o-clock shadow he was known for last year, he had grown the beginnings of a rather impressive beard.  _ Lumberjack chic, _ Richie thought to himself, snorting. 

“What’s on the menu tonight, Tozier?” he asked, face splitting into a grin as Richie approached. 

“H2O for the lady and a Pibb for me, my man.”

Carson gave him a thumbs up before turning away. Richie leaned his head on his hand, letting his mind wander briefly.

“You should really be drinking water if you’re about to go on.”

Richie jumped, spinning around. Eddie was stood behind him, clad in a brown sweater and jeans, and was close enough that in his shock Richie nearly knocked him over. Eyes wide, he reached out and grabbed Eddie’s shoulders to steady him. Eddie laughed.

“Jesus, Richie, slow down before your noodle arms knock someone out.”

He let go, scratching the back of his head.

“Eds! And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The shorter boy rolled his eyes. Ignoring the nickname, he repeated himself.

“I’m serious. If you’re planning to perform your whole set you should be drinking water. No one wants to hear you burp in the middle of a song.”

“Baby you’re looking at the king of burping contests. They say my bodily noises can be heard all the way from Florida.”

Eddie made a face, sticking his tongue out in a fake gag.  _ Cute. _

“That’s disgusting, Rich.”

“I think you mean charming, irresistible, mindbogglingly brilliant, feel free to stop me when I get to a fitting descriptor,”

Eddie rolled his eyes, mouth twitching slightly.

“Here you go! Don’t open that right away,” Carson said, returning with the drinks. He nodded toward the soda can. “It was upside down in the cooler. Opening it could be— ”

“Disastrous, got it,” Richie finished. Carson smiled and nodded, walking back to whatever glasses he was cleaning previously. Richie sighed and stuck the can in his pocket. Turning back to Eddie, he said,

“Well I hate to leave you, darlin’, but there are people expecting me.”

He started to walk away when Eddie called his name. 

“Richie, wait!”

He turned, puzzled. Eddie pulled his backpack in front of him, rummaging through it before fishing out a water bottle. He tossed it and by some miracle of miracles, Richie caught it. 

“Break a leg!” Eddie called. Richie smiled and winked, heading back toward the stage. 

///

For most performances, Richie hardly sang and when he did it was never full verses without Bev singing along. He loved performing, truly, but he was much more confident in his guitar skills than his voice and so he just didn’t open himself up to more criticism than he already mentally had. It was something he was working on — had been working on since him and Bev had become friends — but recovering from the deep-seated insecurity of one’s formative years is much easier said than done. Tonight, however, he was making strides. They had settled on songs that had Richie quite possibly singing on his own as much as he ever had in front of a crowd (around his friends he sang all the time — loud, obnoxious, and purposely out of tune, only inching near serious when sobriety was a foreign feeling, the alcohol giving him an easy out if he fucked up horrendously).

But tonight he was making strides.

For the first couple of songs he stuck to his background harmony routine, immersing himself in the feeling of his fingers running along the guitar strings. People loved Bev’s voice, and rightfully so. She had a diverse range (“Mezzo-Soprano, Rich, how many times do I have to tell you that? Weren’t you  _ in  _ choir in middle school?”) and a way of making songs sound like velvet, even when the subject matter was angry or passionate. She was able to play up the natural gravel in her voice in a way that Richie always wished he could. 

Richie’s voice had always been  _ unique _ . It was lower than his normal tone and thick with rasp no matter what he did, which made choosing songs difficult. He had found that punk music was almost always a safe genre, the rasp being almost a necessity in some cases. And, conveniently, it was one of Bev’s favorites. 

One of the last songs of their set that night allowed for Richie to put on his proverbial pool floaties and take a toe-dip into the soloist lifestyle. 

“All my heroes are human and my gods are all dead…”

Bev was still singing equally as much, of course, but during verses they took turns, alternating between each other every two lines.

“ _ And hope’s hard to find so I’ll hide out instead… _ ”

The song was fast too, which helped Richie avoid looking out into the crowd. He had to focus. 

“...And I harbor a hatred-”

“ _ For anyone left with- _ ”

“A fragment of a smile…”

Once they were well into the chorus, however, it felt almost too easy to glance up and scan for a familiar face. 

“Now I know myself a bit too well and I’m not sure I like what I’ve become. Self-loathing is overwhelming, every mirror is a loaded gun…”

Sure enough, Eddie was watching and smiling, nursing a drink close to his chest. They made eye contact and Richie felt heat crawl up his neck. He looked back down, continuing.

“... If you really knew me, I’m not sure you’d like me so I’ll remain concealed in regret…”

As the song came to a close, Richie felt a wave of relief wash over him. Bev squeezed his knee, grinning at him. He grinned back, allowing the tense knot in his shoulders to finally release.

///

A group of stoners crowded around the pair as they were putting their instruments away. They all raved about the performance, limbs moving wildly. One threw Richie into a headlock, ruffling his already messy curls. He laughed, shoving them off. 

“Man, you guys should come to this party out at Jericho’s, they happen, like, every week. Bring your music!”

Bev tossed them a grin, hands on her hips.

“Oh sure you’d love the entertainment, huh? Sorry boys, we don’t play for free anymore.” She said, jutting her thumb between the two of them. Richie nodded along, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“You heard the lady, go find some other twenty-something with sub par guitar skills. Or better yet, invest in a Bluetooth speaker!”

The group grumbled, but took the rejection nonetheless. One of the taller guys who had been quiet for most of the interaction shrugged, looking at Richie. He smiled.

“Alright fine, but seriously we’ve got a party there weekly. Swing by some time?”

Behind him, though some distance back, was Eddie. He was sat at one of the taller tables, legs dangling slightly. He was staring intently at something on his phone. Richie cocked his head, watching him a moment longer before turning back to the boy in front of him. Patting his shoulder, Richie replied,

“If you’re lucky, blondie,”

Giving Bev a squeeze, he winked before separating himself from the herd. Eddie looked up as he approached and raised a brow, putting his phone down. Nodding his head toward the group, he asked,

“Adoring fans?”

Richie flashed a grin.

“Groupies.”

Eddie snorted.

“Yeah right.”

He hopped down from the table and started heading toward the door.

“Uh, Eds, where ya going?”

“ _ Eddie _ and outside. Walk with me?”

Richie didn’t need to be told twice. They made their way out of the building in relative silence. The air was crisp, cooling down considerably, and a faint breeze kicked up strands of Eddie’s hair. 

“You guys were great tonight.”

“Really?”

“Really. I liked that last song the most.”

Richie felt the blush crawl across his face, grateful the dim streetlights didn’t allow for much vision.  _ He just means the lyrics, asshole. Get a grip.  _

“I think that was the most I’ve heard you sing. It was… nice,”

“Yeah, well, Bev is the Beyonce of us. No, Beyonce isn’t right. She’s more of an Aguilera, or Winehouse.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, arms crossed tightly.  _ He’s cold, offer him something _ . Richie didn’t have anything to offer. He wore t-shirts in the dead of winter, why would he have something on him in October? 

“You need to give yourself more credit. I mean, there’s gotta be more that trashmouth is good for aside from shitty jokes.”

Richie’s eyes flashed bright, lips quirked up in a smirk. Eyes widening, Eddie shoved his shoulder.

“I meant  _ singing _ , you fucking nightmare.”

But he said it through laughter. Richie laughed along, sticking his hand out. Eddie’s brow furrowed.

“Your phone. C’mon, lemme give you my number.”

Eddie paused for a moment before fishing his phone from his pocket and handing it over. Richie smiled, getting to work on creating his contact. Eddie tried to peer over, but Richie moved away from him. He huffed.

“Et  _ voilá _ !” The taller boy announced, handing the phone back. Eddie eyed the contact curiously before groaning. Richie beamed.

“Did you seriously put yourself in here as a  _ booty call _ ? What century is this?”

He opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Beverly yelling from the door.

“Tozier, get your ass back in here and help me pack up or I swear to god-”

The two boys cringed.

“I’m coming, you  _ fiend _ , keep your thong on,” Richie yelled back. The door slammed shut as he turned back to Eddie. 

“Well, I’ll see you ‘round, Rich.”

“Wait! Uh,” 

Eddie looked at him quizzically. Richie shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels.

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t have your number, so if you do actually  _ want _ to talk-”

“I’ll text you,” Eddie interjected. He was smiling again, though softer now. Richie nodded, walking backwards toward the door.

“Right, right. That’s- that’ll be great, yeah, I’m just gonna-”

Always the epitome of grace, he tripped and stumbled. Eddie suppressed a laugh, waving.

“See you around, Richie.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” his back hit the door, “Eds…”

And if he watched Eddie walk away until disappearing around the corner, stomach in knots and cheeks aflame, then that was neither here nor there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope ch4 doesn't take nearly as long for me to get up but I'm sorry if it does. I'm in school and have a job, so things happen!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I was gonna try and introduce everyone this chapter but I knew that'd be too fast for the pacing I want throughout.  
Next chapter more of them will be in it I swear.


End file.
